Look for America
by Histofan
Summary: What if Dounia changed her mind and accepted Svidrigailov's offer? The two make plans to go to America with Raskolnikov and run from his punishment, but knowing her brother would never come willingly, Razumikhin is recruited to drag him on the journey. What results is an emotional and quite paranoid road trip. Rated T just because.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm going to warn people right now, this has Raskolnikov/Razumikhin in it and Svidrigailov/Dounia, but both are super slow burn. You have been warned.**

The cold metal of the pistol burned against the heat of his sweaty head, just above the ear. His pulse was quickening, and he could feel it against the barrel of the gun. His fingers twitched towards the trigger, nerves forcing them to shake and making him nervous he may actually shoot himself. What a useless fear to have, for wasn't he there to do just that?

Svidrigailov tried his best to clear his mind and take a deep breath. A forced smile was plastered on his face as he watched the poor jewish man in front of him, obviously torn between staying rigid against the gate he was previously leaned on and bolting to stop Svidrigailov. In the end, there was nothing he could do, for Svidrigailov's finger was faster than the man's feet, no doubt. His pupils were widening with the fear of a gunshot sounding at any second, and it almost made Svidrigailov laugh out loud. He was not the one in danger of dying, so why did he seem so frightened?

"Stop, dis is not de place!" He finally managed to say with his heavy accent, however, Svidrigailov was not listening. His mind was starting to wonder, a dreadful thing really, as it was only delaying the inevitable. Despite his choice being made hours ago, he was suddenly thinking of trivial things again, like how cold the wind made his hands and how his rising fever was burning his eyes. He wondered if this feeling would carry on in the afterlife. Could a ghost be cold, or warm for that matter? Where did ghosts reside anyway? He wondered if Marfa was watching somewhere, or perhaps her spirit was leaving him to carry out his dreadful deed in peace.

Now his words to Raskolnikov echoed in his ears, and he remembered his spoken hypotheses on what the afterlife looked like. Was it just a dark box, or blank nothingness for all eternity? Before, these had just been speculations, but now his feverish and frightened person treated them like the answers to life. Technically they were, because how would ending his time in this world alleviate his pain if he just ended up in a miserable cell without a beating heart, confined to some sort of spirit realm for the rest of time? His heart rate was accelerating again, and he was finding it harder and harder to keep the pistol from shaking. _I have to stop thinking about these things, really…_ He tried to steady his hand, but shifting his wrist seemed to only cause him to lose his grip on the weapon even more.

"Sir," the man's voice snapped his attention back to the real world. He was half-holding the gate bars with one hand, the other slack at his side as he inched forwards. "Sir, dis is not de place…" His approaching scared Svidrigailov, and he took a few steps back from the man. He knew that sooner or later someone was going to notice them in the middle of the street like this, himself with a gun to his head, and try to stop him. The authorities might arrive, too. He knew he had to do it now, but his fingers felt like jello and he couldn't find the strength to put pressure on the trigger.

The world was fading into his thoughts again, the man's desperate pleas becoming nothing but background static. He could almost see Dunechka in front of him, the gun he was holding now suddenly in her hands and pointing between his eyes. She was so spiteful and afraid in that moment, however her beauty never diminished. Those dark eyes filled with hatred, to him, were like reflectors of the night sky that had covered the scene. He always saw stars when he looked into those eyes… he suddenly wondered what she saw in his.

Lost in thought, the gun hand had began to separate from his head, suspending itself in the air beside his ear. Unbeknownst to him, the jewish man had relaxed, thinking that maybe he was rethinking the whole thing and wouldn't go through with it after all. His hand finally detached from the gate and he took a step forward to help Svidrigailov with throwing the gun away for good. His movement caught Svidrigailov's eye though, and it scared him into a violent jerk, his fingers twitching again with nervousness-

His pointer finger moved a bit too roughly, and a deafening gunshot resonated in the street as a result. Svidrigailov's body felt numb, the only dull feelings being the sting of his right ear and the eventual pounding impact of his skull on the stone street. It was odd how cold he suddenly felt, as if some icy substance was seeping through his clothes from the ground, but he felt strangely comfortable. His head was warm at least, though he didn't know why. All he knew was that he could still see Dounia staring back at him with some undefined expression, but it made her look stunning nonetheless.

When he next awoke, he was greeted by off white walls and the stench of badly washed cloth mixed with strong ointments. He tried to survey the area, but the slightest shifting of his eyes sent a jolt through his skull, and he did not dare to move his head entirely. All he could see from his field of vision was the tips of nurses' heads as they scurried by, completely unaware of his state of consciousness. With the realization that he was in a hospital came the memory of the events that came before this: the gun, the blast, the cobblestone street colliding roughly with the back of his skull.

He managed to free his hand from the tangled blankets and brought his fingers up to gingerly touch his temple, where he was certain a bullet had shot through him. However, all he found was thickly wrapped bandages, partially covered by his dark grey curls.

"Ah, so you're awake? Good, good." A man's voice that sounded close by made him start for a moment, but he winced and stilled himself when the movement reminded him of his pounding head. "Try not to move too much, I still have to examine your mental state," the voice said, who at this point was obviously one of the doctors here. Svidrigailov felt the doctor's weight on the mattress, shifting his body to the left with the gravity of the folding bed.

"Do you remember your name?"

He swallowed the thick saliva in his mouth to prepare his throat for talking, "Arkady Ivanovich Svidrigailov."

"Very good. Your age?"

"Fifty."

"And, Mr. Svidrigailov, are you married?"

"I was," for some reason he found himself struggling to elaborate, but the doctor's silence made it clear he wanted more. "Her name was Marfa. She died recently."

"Alright then. The police were able to identify you, and since everything you have provided me with does indeed match your records, I suspect you suffered no severe damage." his weight was lifted from the bedside, and for a second Svidrigailov thought he might have left, however he soon felt the man's fingers around his right eye, forcing it to open. He nearly jumped, but managed to calm himself down. "Tell me, do you remember what led to you coming here?"

"I was in the street… I shot myself in the head."

"Ah, well you tried to anyway. You missed by a hair: any closer and you would have bled yourself to death. Luckily something made you move, and instead you have a nasty scar and a slight concussion after falling in the street." He shifted to examine his other eye, allowing him to process the information. If he was being honest with himself, he couldn't feel any distinct emotions about this new twist of fate. His failure left him embarrassed, empty, and much broker than before, considering he had left a large sum of money with Sonia and her siblings when he thought he would no longer need it.

On the other hand, the gun had held two bullets, and he had only used one. There was still another chance to finish the decision he made last night, but with the doctor hovering over him and the thickly wrapped bandages around his head, it was difficult to picture himself trying again.

"I believe you'll be quite alright, sir. Try not to cause such a commotion again, especially out in the middle of the road. There were women present, you know!" It was absolutely ridiculous, but hearing this caught Svidrigailov's attention. He really ought to stop thinking about her all the time. After all, look where that got him!

"When I decided that place would suffice, there was no one there. Only a guard of some sort, or maybe just a beggar."

"At first, yes, but you forget that you went out to pull the trigger at five in the morning. The sun was nearly up, and the markets were beginning to open. Then that man you mentioned earlier, he was actually a guard, found the authorities and led them to you, but by then it was high morning." The doctor seemed to produce a board and paper from thin air, and Svidrigailov could hear his pen flying across it in what must have looked like chicken scratch. "But all that need concern you now is not trying again. Besides, your weapon was confiscated at the scene for your own good. Your papers say you are not from here, perhaps you should start by returning to your estate?"

Svidrigailov, his head having calmed down since initially waking, turned slightly to get a better look at the man beside him. "I have nothing there. About the women in the street, how did they react?"

The doctor looked slightly thrown off by the mad look in Svidrigailov's eyes as he waited for the response with such attentive patience, as if his life depended on it. "As anyone would react seeing a respectable looking man lying outside in his own blood: horrified. One woman though was quite level headed, a rare thing in such a young girl. She offered her assistance and was quite inquisitive upon where you would be staying. I suspect she felt obligated to intervene, but why I am unsure."

"That woman," Svidrigailov scrambled to sit upright. His pulse beat in his head and his very skull felt like it might give way to the pressure, but he found it in him to prop his back against the pillow and reached out for the doctor's shirt. However, the man had backed away a foot, weary of his excited patient. "What did she look like? How old would you say, or, better yet, did you catch her name?"

"Ha! I was not there myself. I heard the report from one of the officers, as I was here in the hospital. What business does a medic have outside if it is not to fetch medication? There is always work to be done here; fetching the sick is left to the authorities." He went back to scribbling on his papers before casually tucking them away on the side of the bed, "As for you though, we will have you released by the end of the day. You have all your memory and you aren't bleeding anymore, however its best to leave those bandages on at least until the rest of the day, just in case."

With a smile and a nod, he was on to the next patient, who admittedly looked a lot worse off than Svidrigailov. He took no notice though, his mind going straight to a certain dark haired woman. _Really, this has got to stop!_ He tried to tell himself, but as he lay there against the propped up pillows in the shabby hospital, her image would not leave him be. _It's useless to think, but, could that have been..? No, no! Of course not…_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I love how this fandom has been dead on this site since 2013, but I'm still trying.**

Just as the doctor had said, he was practically pushed out of the hospital by noon. He couldn't say he was checked out, because that would imply the process was formal rather than the brief looking over of his papers and an aid showing him to the door. He didn't know what he had expected, and frankly, he knew he should be more surprised that there was a hospital on this side of Petersburg. He remembered the doctor that had visited Raskolnikov when he was sick, as he had made it his duty to recognize anyone involved with the Romanovich family. He had been overweight but young, and all too sure of himself with that misjudged confidence that only inexperience could bring. _What was his name again..? Ah, it doesn't matter._

When he made it through the doors of the hospital, he took no steps further. Svidrigailov was quite aware of how ridiculous he must look blocking the entrance with his head still wrapped up in bloody bandages, but he could not find any reason to move. He did not think he would make it this far into the day, as his suicidal mission had been just that morning in the crack of dawn, but now the streets were full of life and his stomach was making it clear that it was late enough to be finding lunch.

 _Should I go back to my room and pretend nothing happened? How strange that would be, sitting in the pleasure gardens under the balcony and sipping tea like a gentleman after this morning._ A nurse came straight for the doors in a run, nearly shoving Svidrigailov out of her way. It forced him to move two steps back, but he still planted himself there and showed no signs of leaving anytime soon. The thought suddenly occurred to him that he might visit Rodion again, but realizing how Dounia must have appeared after last night, out of breath and hair tousled out of its bun, they must have figured something was astray. _Again with her! I really must stop-_

Like magic, his distracted gaze managed to focus on one figure across the street, half hidden in the crowds and passing carts, but unmistakable with her violent shawl and rich brunette whisps. And yet, despite the shock he felt in his veins, he was still doubtful that it could possibly be the woman of his dreams. It was not until she crossed the street and approached him, her eyes locking with his, that he sprung into action, straightening his shirt and brushing back his unruly curls with his hand. Her brief look of shock made him realize that doing this just accentuated the scarlet bandages.

"Avdot-" after last night, he could hardly refer to her by her first name- "er, Miss Romanovna, what has you in the streets without an escort?"

"I hardly think I need an escort to visit the market," she said in a strained voice, those dark eyes of hers glued to his forehead. Despite the obvious tension in her posture, Svidrigailov could not help but feel the opposite, her mere presence making it hard to focus on anything or stand as straight as he should. "Pardon me, but are you alright?"

 _Ah, sweet Dunechka! Worrying for me and coming to see me like a doting wife._ He wanted to scold himself for such thoughts, but seeing her here in front of him made it so much more difficult than it was when he was alone in bed. "Quite alright, despite my efforts." He offered a smile and briefly wondered if it was proper to insinuate such things to a woman, but then again, she must have already known. _On that subject,_ "Actually, it is quite practical seeing you here without your family, for there is something I need to return to you." He reached for his inside pocket, but finding it empty, he began testing the others.

It was not until this embarrassing moment that Svidrigailov noticed his coat was lighter without the weight of the gun. He must have dropped it after the shot. It could be anywhere by now, and he knew if the authorities or the hospital had it, they most certainly would not give it back now. "Ah, nevermind, it seems I've misplaced it." Despite knowing he didn't have it, his shaking hands continued to fiddle with his coat, his mind already getting lost in his murky thoughts. _This is absurd! She has no need for it anyway, and it is not even hers to begin with, for didn't she say she stole it from under my roof? Or should I say Marfa's roof? No matter, that pistol was mine, and I shot it for years and the one time it mattered I-_

A feather light touch on his knuckles made him freeze. His eyes found Dounia's once more, her hand swiftly withdrawing as he did. "Whatever it was, I'm sure life will go on without it." The sweet irony of that statement was enough to drive Svidrigailov mad, but he could not bring himself to move an inch. Her hand was still hovering in the air, and he stupidly wondered if she would touch him again.

"Why exactly are you here, Miss Romanovna?" She looked at him then with a hint of fury, and his heart was struck with the sudden fear that she might leave without a word. Instead though, she took a breath from her nose and steadied herself.

"I'm here to tell you that I've changed my mind."

"Ah, about what?" _It can't be, it can't be what I think it is._

"I believe you know what I'm talking about," she said it as if she couldn't bear to repeat whatever it was, but Svidrigailov felt he might die if there was a misunderstanding, so he had to hear it. He continued to stare at her until she sighed, "your offer last night. I'll admit that in the room, in the dark, with no one else in the house and the doors locked, I was quite frightened. But when I went home and saw my mother, she said something that changed my mind. She started talking about my brother. It made me see that he really was not well, especially with how he last left us the other day." She focused on the buttons of Svidrigailov's burgundy jacket, not able to look into his eyes as she remembered, "He was saying the strangest things about sinking and swimming and coming back but maybe not… Razumikhin was very concerned as well. I could see it in his eyes."

"So, you will accept my offer and come to America with me? Your brother too?" He whispered it in a strained voice. He briefly wondered if he really was dead, and this was all a strange mirage in the afterlife. However, Dounia's brilliant eyes and the warmth of her hand returning to his told him it was no dream.

"Yes, that is what I am saying. I think if we do not act soon, Rodya will end up doing something dreadful. I've heard terrible things about Siberia, and with his frail health, I fear I may never see him again if he leaves." Her fingers tightened themselves around his own, and Svidrigailov realized this was probably her way of making him know she meant what she said, for he wouldn't be surprised if he looked baffled at the whole situation. Truly, he did feel lost in the whole ordeal, and barely heard the reason behind Dounia's acceptance. His mind was too preoccupied in replaying her first words, 'Yes, that is what I'm saying.' She was saying yes to him, holding his hand like an intimate friend.

He nearly fainted, but managed to catch himself before he stumbled too far. Dounia now had a hand on each of his shoulders, trying to keep him steady in the street. "Goodness, you must have lost a lot of blood. Truly, what made you think to do such a thing?"

"I apologize… you're coming to America with me?"

"Yes, yes! Not so loud. You never know who could be listening at this time of day. The streets are so busy in Petersburg, nothing like at home." She glanced around to make sure her suspicions were false, then turned back to him. "Come, we must speak with Razumikhin. Knowing Rodya, it will be nearly impossible to make him agree to the plan. We will need his help."

Just like that, the light feeling in his bones solidified with a jolt of realization. He went rigid in Dounia's grasp, and she backed away from him as if his hatred was visibly radiating from him. "Are you suggesting we bring him with us?"

"Yes, but only for Rodya. He is very fond of him; if he is to listen to anyone, it's him. Mr. Svidrigailov, believe me when I say he can be trusted."

"It is not that, not at all." He would have continued, but remembered his place. Dunechka had said yes against all odds. She was here, freely touching him and addressing him by his name with no accompanying insults. Razumikhin may be a liability, but if he made his conditions clear, perhaps it would not matter in the end. "Miss Romanovich, if I am to assist you and your troublesome brother," he refrained from calling Raskolnikov anything worse, "then you must promise to adhere to your end of the agreement."

"Which is?" He knew she was bluffing. The fire in her eyes refused to give in to the ice in his though, so she continued to try and find a wiggle space.

"You know full well what it is, _Dunechka_."

"Don't you dare use familiar names with me!" She reeled back, one hand on her reddening cheek and the other clutching her shawl closed tightly. She looked mortified and turned to finally leave when Svidrigailov's body kicked into action and he found himself reaching for her clothes to get her to stop, but the moment his fingers brushed her back, she had turned again to face him. "I only ask for time to adjust."

It only took a second to consider, the fear of her leaving renewed, "Yes, of course."

"The I will meet you in two days in front of Rodya's building?"

"Yes… of course." He didn't even realize he was repeating himself. She nodded, turned back to the street, and in the blink of an eye, she was mixed in the crowds and gone from his sight. He still stood in place with his hand out from when he felt the cloth of her dress, blinking in disbelief at the events that just unfolded.

 _She said yes… Dunechka said yes, she will leave with me, leave this blasted place and belong to only me. Only me… how silly of me. Her brother will be there, and that young man. But Dounia will be mine._

His legs eventually led him to his room. Katerina was nowhere to be found, but it did not matter in the end. In two days' time, he would be wiped clean from Petersburg and Russia itself. He would be free from the poisonous country, the impoverished families that clung to him, and the ghostly old figure that continued to watch him from the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I am so excited to see people are reading this! I even got my first comment and let me say, it made my day (you know who you are, and thank you so much). Hopefully I will not disappoint.**

Dounia knew she was pressed for time. She had left her mother to drink tea in their modest room, however she knew it would not be long before she suspected her outing consisted of more than the marketplace. Honestly she had been expecting her meeting with Svidrigailov to be shorter, but it was clear the moment she saw him staring at his feet in front of the hospital with his head bandaged and a far away look in his eyes that it would take some patience.

Knowing this and suspecting his mental state would be rather declined beforehand, she had gone through with it anyway. Looking back on herself, Dounia believed she did a good job keeping her composure despite his antics and strange shivering throughout their conversation. She was especially proud of not mentioning the ruby stains in his hair and down his temple. There was no need to let him know the other reason why she had reconsidered, and showing concern would have done just that.

Her feet worked fast to get on with her errands, but her eyes scanned the streets and corners wearily. She had barely been able to sleep last night after her encounter with Svidrigailov. Dounia still could not believe she had gotten away unscathed, but what she could not believe even more was that he had let her go without a fight. A simple rejection was all it took in the end, and he had given her the key in silent submission. It was not until she reached the steps to her and her mother's tenant building that she realized she had left the gun behind, though, and that sealed her fate to not sleep a wink in the night.

It was dawn when she finally left with the excuse of replenishing the tea leaves. With the amount of money Dounia had managed to acquire during the past few days, her mother could not object to drinking a plentifully flavored tea, so she let her go without another word. Dounia hoped she had not been obvious speeding through the foggy cobblestone roads with her skirt held away from her feet, struggling to remember where she had met Svidrigailov the night before, until a chance encounter left her staring at a body in the street with a pool of blood forming around familiar grey curls.

She shuddered at the memory, but did her best to push it from her mind. She was to have no guilt in the matter, after all, she was not the one who lured them both into a vacant home with locked doors. He had brought his misery upon himself, she said over and over again all morning. She did her part, offering to help the authorities and coming back that afternoon as promised, and she had finally said what she believed she would say all night. America was her next destination, with her brother, dear Razumikhin, and Svidrigailov alongside her.

When she reached Rodion's place, she made sure to open the front door with care so as to not disturb the landlady. Now was not the time to draw attention to Raskolnikov or his debts. Walking up the rickety steps was a different challenge though, as everywhere she put her delicate feet seemed to elicit a loud crack in the floorboards. When Razumikhin burst from a room upstairs and thundered down, she knew all hopes of being sneaky were lost.

"Oh, Miss Romanovna!" He said in a flustered tone when he ran into her. "Your brother was just talking about you- I mean, not in a degrading manner of course, and by that I mean perhaps sibling rivalry or something of the sort. You know how Rodion gets! And I would never insinuate anything improper-"

"Razumikhin, I trust you wouldn't," she quickly put a stop to his babbling. He scratched his head in embarrassment, tipping his hat forwards just a bit.

"My apologies, Miss Romanovna. I hope I have not caused any-"

"Offense? Not at all." He blushed at his predictability, but she continued, "And please, 'Dounia' will suffice. I have to discuss important matters with you, and if you accept, formalities will hardly be our worst problems."

He looked surprised at this, and looked around for a moment before asking, "Should we go somewhere more private?"

"My mother is still in our room, so that is out of the question."

"Right. We could go to my apartment, but of course only if you don't think it too improper! I would never want to make you feel, or appear to others-"

"Yes, I think your home would be the best option at this point." He blinked at her for a moment while he processed her interruption, before snapping back into the present with a smile and a gesture for her to continue in front of him.

They walked the streets in silence, Dounia because she was too busy thinking about how to present what she was going to say to Razumikhin, and him because he was too flustered at the whole event. He walked her up the narrow stairs of his building and held the door for her without a word.

Razumikhin's apartment was noticeably in better condition than her brother's. The walls sill held their wallpaper, bringing some color into the room. He had a bed in the corner, but the room was large enough to allow a desk, a modest bookshelf, and even a table with two chairs. He pulled one out for her to sit in, but she remained standing by the door.

"Come in, come in! What kind of host would I be if I left you standing there the whole time?" He was already scrambling around the room to put papers and cups away. "Would you like some tea?" He was already removing his hat and coat.

"I'm fine, thank you. The more time we have the better." She wrung her hands around in nervousness for a moment, suddenly wondering if he would even dare leave the place he had set up for himself just for her, but remembered that her request was not in her name, but Rodion's. "Perhaps it is not for me to say, but I must confess that Rodya has done something absolutely terrible, and he is in danger of being arrested."

Razumikhin instantly ceased his rustling with the mess on his desk, and turned slowly to meet her eyes. It did not look like he would be able to ask what it was, for his mouth was hanging open in shock and his skin had turned an alarming pale shade. Dounia continued,

"He is the murderer they're after. The crime with the pawnbroker… it was him." It was harder to say than she thought it would be, and she almost expected Razumikhin to get upset. He did, but not in the way she expected.

He looked back to the desk, his entire body absolutely still. Then, "Did he tell you?"

"Svidrigailov told me, but he heard him confess it to Sonia the other day. Honestly, do you need him to say it himself to believe it? You've seen him as of late, fainting at every mention of the police, bedridden with fever and just absolutely mad."

"He is not mad," Razumikhin was quick to say. He realized this too, and quickly recovered, "He is guilty, but not mad. He never was… he was always too clever for his own good. Always saying the oddest things and having a way to make them sound clever, but good God! What has he done now!"

There was a silence between them then, where Dounia waited for Razumikhin to possibly say more, and the latter stood at the desk with his hand in his hair and a look of desperation on his face, like he just didn't know what to do from there on.

Finally, Dounia spoke up. "Svidrigailov said something else, too. He offered to help Rodya reach America and escape capture, if I go with him."

"Did you accept?"

"Not at first, but I thought about it all night. Rodya has been so ill, I don't think he would last in prison, let alone the Siberian prisons where the worst are sent. He is responsible for the death of two innocent women, surely they would send him there, and I don't think I would ever see him again." By now she was looking at her skirt tips brushing against the floor, unable to meet Razumikhin in the eyes. She knew she already sounded desperate, and perhaps he would only say yes because she looked like a beggar, but she had to try anyway. "I met Svidrigailov this morning and told him I changed my mind, only I know my brother. He will never listen to me, and he bears a hatred towards Svidrigailov due to past conflicts. He will never come willingly, and I cannot make him. If you came along though…"

Dounia's request hit Razumikhin like a ton of bricks. His eyes widened at her invitation, and all he could say for a moment was "to America?" He continued to think, or at least, that is what Dounia hoped he was doing. She was close to praying that he would not turn her down, because she had no idea how else they would persuade Raskolnikov to come with them.

"Romanov- I mean, Dounia, this is a lot to think about. Pardon me if I had a negative reaction, but do you think Rodion will flee Russia when he finds out we all know of his crime, and we want to hide him in America? I hardly think I'll make a difference!" He came closer to her as he paced a bit in the room, looking lost. "If we don't try though, he'll surely be caught. Oh, why did he have to go do something as senseless as this..!"

"Razumikhin," Dounia sighed, feeling a bit lost herself, "He may not show it, but Rodion is very fond of you." Razumikhin focused his attention on her again. "He seems to have isolated himself from the whole world, even from us, but he came to you for help on his own accord. He remembered you, even when he left school and locked himself up in that coffin of a flat he has. He must trust you, even care for you, quite a bit." Razumikhin was beginning to look a bit flustered at her confession, and smiled boyishly at her in embarrassment.

"Rodion is very unexplainable at times, isn't he? That's how he has always been, even in school when we were studying law. People shied away from him because of how strange he can be, but I always found it gives him an even more interesting character." He smiled at his own words, despite where that strangeness in Raskolnikov had landed them.

"It seems you are very fond of Rodion as well."

At this, Dounia could swear she saw Razumikhin's cheeks turn a shade of pink, but it was gone so quickly that she blamed the strange lighting from the half closed window. "I saw him just now, as you know. We met in the stairs after all… He looked so sick again, like he never got any better. I do not think he'd fare well in Siberia either, and Rodya had to have some reason. I cannot believe he would do it for nothing, he must have been delirious, hungry, penniless… just look at what his actions have done to him!" He ran a hand through his hair and took a sharp breath, holding it for a moment in thought, and finally said, "If coming with Rodion will help him live, I'll gladly leave everything behind."

Dounia's somber tone uncontrollably shifted into a smile, and she almost grabbed Razumikhin's hands in excitement. "You're sure? I do not know if or when we would ever come back. Do you have family?" She knew she sounded like she was dissuading the answer she had hoped for, but she wanted to make sure there was no chance of the plan falling apart last minute.

"I have not spoken with them in years. I do not have the slightest clue as to where they may be now, so it hardly matters." He smiled shyly, "Perhaps you and Rodya will be my new family."

"Perhaps indeed," she returned his smile, albeit a bit shakily at the adrenaline she was getting at the thought that this was really happening. Everyone was ready, and all they needed was a plan to bring Raskolnikov. "In two days then, in my brother's apartment building?"

"I'll be there."


End file.
